


Howl

by softclaws



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe, Multi, Papa!Solas, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softclaws/pseuds/softclaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen years, three-hundred and sixty four days ago, Esny Lavellan gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Tomorrow, he will officially be a man - and he will have all the questions he ever asked, answered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misstep

**Author's Note:**

> This is all based on the AU that my Lavellan ended up knocked from Solas. And that, whatever it is he has planned for the world, takes around twenty years to put into action. So that means we have two years of AU angst awaiting us. I hope you’re ready to see Solas in the next chapter. This fic probably not going to be more than three or four chapters at max - but I’m on a roll with this - so who knows! Sorry for the cliffhanger!
> 
> Also available on my tumblr: playfulclaws
> 
> EDIT:: I spliced Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 together, to even out the next chapter - which is becoming a monster.

He saw wolves everywhere.

In paintings. In poetry. In the thick tomes his mother kept.

_Taren._

In the forest, eyes bright as they stopped and called out to him: a lamenting song meant for the moon. In his dreams he ran with them: wild, free.

_Taren._

In his nightmares he saw six gleaming peridots in blood-soaked fur. In his mother’s distant gaze when he asked of his father, time and time again. He saw wolves everywhere. In people. In the mirror.

“Taren!”

“Wot?” He lifted his gaze, dreary, unfocused as he came out of his mood.

“Honestly, Taren,” His mother pinched the bridge of her nose, “You’re going to be late for your lessons with your Uncle.” Her greying hair was piled on her head, styled by Josephine. 

“Ugh,” He grunted and sat up, running a hand through his hair, “Uncle Phlox is so boring. Blah blah blah history, blah blah creators, blah blah blaaaah.”

She swatted at him, cuffing the back of his head as he got to his feet, “Ow!” He grimaced, “Y’only got one arm mum, you shouldn’t be able to hit that hard!” He laughed softly to show he was _mostly_ joking.

“Oh, you and your dramatic flair. Now go on, and bring these with you. He’ll be missing them.” She handed him three equally thick books, and he grunted. “And don’t forget to remind him of your coming of age ceremony!” He half ignored her as he stalked to the library, depositing his uncle’s books on one of the end tables.

“Ah, my favorite nephew.” Phlox said, smiling warmly.

“M’your only nephew.”

“Someone’s in a mood.”

“Ir abelas.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Ah,” He gestured for his pupil to sit, paging through a book, “Bad dreams then?”

“Yes. Kind of.”

“That’s not unusual for a mage. When we sleep we travel to the Fade. Unlike our non-magic counterparts, you’ll find your dreams to be more vivid. Sometimes too vivid.”

“They’re not like usual dreams. I swear I’m awake in them. And the wolves. There’s always wolves.” He slumped in the chair, propping his chin up with an elbow on the table. His gaze was distant, unfocused.

Phlox’s expression darkened, and he snapped the book shut, “Perhaps, da’len, we should skip the rest of the week’s lessons? You should be well rested before we attempt the next few spells. Besides, I’m sure you have other things weighing on your mind.”

“Are you certain?” Taren quirked an eyebrow,

“Yes, quite.”

He smiled sheepishly, getting to his feet. He didn’t care for exceptions being made for him. But it might be good to get away from…well, everything. He stretched, pointing out the books he left behind, “From mother.”

“Ah, thank you. I was missing these.”

“She said you might be. She also said to remind you my coming of age ceremony.” He trailed off, shrugging slightly. He really hated the big deal his mom was making of this. So he was another year older – it made no difference to him.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Enjoy your time off. I will see you at the ceremony.”

“Goodbye, Uncle.”

“Dareth shiral, da’len.”

Taren waved over his shoulder as he descended the steps to the rotunda below, giving a soft startled noise when he lifted his head and came face-to-face with a fresco of a wolf. Most of the paint was old, worn, and had started to flake and fade in places. But this piece, it was the freshest of them all – as though it had been touched up recently. Wolves. He saw wolves in everything.

He just needed a break. The whole coming of age thing was getting to him. Especially since his mom insisted that everything be done just right and insisted that he be happy about it. He hunched his shoulders - successfully sneaking out of Skyhold without anyone saying anything to him. He expected it. For the past week everyone from Orlesian dignitaries to Fereldan guardsman had been wishing him luck and success and good health. And no amount of thinking ignore me ignore me ignore me seemed to deter them.

He slipped his bow and quiver from their resting place in the stables, slipping a sugar cube to the horse that had been given to him two years ago. He stroked her face, laughing as she nuzzled his neck.

“No, Ghilani.” He crooned, “Not this time.”

She nickered, and he held a finger up to his lips. He climbed onto the roof of the stables, slipping past the guards and over the wall. He strode through the snow and towards the line of trees that signaled the start of the forest, pulling his coat a little tighter around himself. It didn’t take him long to follow the tracks of a pair of coneys, moving slow and silent through the snow. A snapping branch stole his attention – a low, rumbling snarl snapping his spine rigid.

He spun, an arrow nocked and eyes searching. There! A flash of pitch black fur in the trees. He released the arrow, and the beast burst from the trees – green eyes glinting as it set its teeth in a snarl. It bristled as it circled, hackles raised as it loosed a low, gravelly howl.

A direwolf. Another blighted wolf.

Taren was going to kill it.

It snarled again, and he snarled back – the sound angry and primal and coming from his belly. It was gravelly and deep, and he barred his teeth at the advancing wolf as he nocked another arrow. This time, he coaxed a bit of ice along the shaft, the arrowhead glimmering with frost.

The wolf lunged and Taren released the arrow, the stone head burrowing into the wolf’s chest and releasing a brilliant burst of ice crystals. The small spires split the bone and fur, dropping the wolf before the hunter as the ice bloomed into something awful and beautiful. He retrieved his arrow and drew his hunting knife, intending to take the fur and teeth, at the very least. When he bent to remove the fur, the wolf splintered as though it was made of glass – fading away into the chilled air.

“Ah!” Taren exclaimed, scrambling backwards as his heart hammered in his chest. A misstep cracked his head into a rock - head bursting with white hot pain. He remembered only uncertainty, and then darkness.

\--

It was dark, his soft footfalls making gently radiating green rings on ground that seemed all too unreal. He walked a ways in every direction, lost, until – in the distance – he saw a large black wolf. It lifted its head and loosed a long, mournful howl, ears pricking as it observed him. It loped towards him over the blackened hills: grass soft and mild beneath its paws. A gentle breeze brought the smell of earth, and rain, and the underlying musk of death. Such as it often was in the Fade.

The wolf seemed bigger, now that it was closer. It’s six green eyes glistened and narrowed as it studied him – Taren studying it back. He had seen this creature before – in the frescos on the walls of the rotunda, in his dreams wicked and massive. But he wasn’t afraid. It smelled and nudged and nuzzled, breath hot and reeking of death. Then it stepped back, lips peeling back in a trickster's smile.

“Fen-Harel.” He breathed, going still.

_Yes. And do you know what you are?_ The words were there and they weren’t, filling his thoughts with a low soothing voice. He could hardly believe a god was speaking to him - especially here and now. Oh, he supposed he'd gone and died. This was it. This was the end.

“I’m Taren,” He responded.

_Not who, boy. What._

Taren tipped his head, regarding the wolf-beast with a baffled expression. “I'm just an elf?” Though, now that he was being asked, he wasn’t entirely certain.  
The wolf laughed, the sound punctuated with an amused snort, _Are you certain?_

“When y’ask me a question like that, it’s hard t’be certain. That’s like asking me if I’m worried about m’health. I wasn’t. But I am now.” Emboldened by the wolf’s laugh he asked, “May I leave this place?”

The wolf laughed again, this time the sound deep and from the belly. _Oh, you are a clever one. Pehaps you may leave, if you can prove your mettle. Come, sing with me._ The wolf lifted its head to the darkened sky, howling its song in wavering notes. When it heard no discourse from the elf, it paused, ears flicking forward in curiosity - then falling in disappointment.

_Just an elf indeed._

The wolf disappeared.

\--

The knock on her door was urgent. The ex-Herald opened her chamber door, letting it rest against her knee as she drew her fur robe tighter around herself. “Oh, Phlox,” She said, “I thought Taren was taking his lessons with you? Did you get the books I sent with?”

“He was. I sent him off for the day. I need to speak with you.” He pressed inside as Esny closed the door, expression worried.

“Phlox?”

“It’s about Taren.”

“What’s wrong?”

Her brother rubbed his face, expression distant and fretful and entirely unfocused. He took a breath, steeling himself, “I think he’s in trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“Has he told you of his dreams?”

“No. He scarcely talks to me about such things.”

“He told me he’s been having vivid dreams. Where he appears awake - able to move and talk and fight. You know these lucid dreams. And in every dream he sees wolves.”

His sister went pale, easing herself down onto the chaise, “You don’t think-?” She could hardly believe what he was suggesting, though she supposed it wasn't impossible. Nothing was.

“I don’t know,” Phlox admitted with a shrug, “Solas may very well be attempting to communicate with him. Though why for the first time in nearly eighteen years I can’t fathom. But something’s wrong. I have a feeling.”

“Since when did you believe in gut feelings?”

“When the voices started howling in my ear a fortnight ago.”

\--

Taren wandered in the dark, head pounding, knees weak from exhaustion. His dream seemed to pay no mind that his body didn’t have needs or desires here, instead, it insisted on alarming his system to every ache, pain, and annoyance. He wanted to leave - but he didn't know how. Waking from this dream was slowly beginning to morph into a nightmare of it's own design.

Sing, he thought, pursing his lips. He didn’t know how to sing.

But then, maybe he _did_.

Taren tipped his head up, took a deep breath, and howled. Again and again he cried out in the wolfen song – until, at last, the wolf reappeared. It joined him in chorus, their voices cut by a sudden chilled wind. It circled him slowly, appraising. _So sings the child of the wolf_.

He awoke with a start, groaning and easing himself into a sitting position. Behind his eyelids he could still see the wolf melting into the elvhen man – skin pale and freckled and familiar. He shook his head, regret flooding his thoughts as pain blossomed across his skull and behind his eyes. Taren pressed a gentle hand to his temple, observing fingers that were sticky and red. He needed to return to Skyhold, and return quickly. Lest he fall unconscious again in the snow and cold – and lose more than simple his sense of time.

He got to his feet – slowly, painfully, and began to shuffle his way back towards the stronghold. Oh, his mother was going to fuss and fret and rail on him about the gash in his head. Perhaps, he thought, Josephine might be able to hide it with clever hair and clever jewelry. Yes, he would be sure to suggest that.


	2. Name Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the party guests you don't invite are by far the most interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If something seems out of place, it's likely because I merged the original chapter two with the first chapter, in order to make room for this one.
> 
> I slammed this chapter out (and I have no beta, so if you see mistakes, forgive me!), because I'm really excited for the next chapter!
> 
> As always: thank you for reading! <3

The water in the bath was starting to cool when Taren realized he had been staring off for the better part of an hour. Taren was mindful of the still healing wound on his temple as he carefully washed his hair, giving a small shiver as the cool water trickled down his neck. He didn’t want to do this today – or any other day for that matter. The idea of being surrounded by a few hundred strangers (and a handful of friends and family), and being expected to act perfect it – well, it made him nauseous.

There was a knock at his door, and for a brief moment, he considered feigning his death.

“Sorry,” He said, in a high voice much unlike his own, “Taren’s not available. He’s gone and died of embarrassment. Please do slip a note under the door and I’ll deposit it in his grave.” 

“I’m glad you’re still finding humor in this,” Came his uncle’s voice, “Meanwhile your mother is worried that you’ve drowned yourself in the bath.”

“There’s an idea.”

“ _Taren_.” The exasperation was tangible.

“Mum worries too much. I just had to be careful with my hair.” He stepped out of the bath, drying off as best he could with the thin towel draped over the side of the tub. Josephine had somehow acquired tremendously thick Orlesian towels, but for all their comfort they did a horrendous job at wicking away moisture.

“She wanted me to remind you that you may not, under any circumstances, wear all black.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” He muttered under his breath, “Why?”

“It’s a bad omen.”

“Do you believe that?” He asked, pulling on his underclothes before throwing on a simple dressing robe (in black, of course).

Phlox was quiet for a long moment, “It isn’t about what I believe. I’m trying to keep your mother from going out of her mind.”

“Why is this so important to her?” He opened the door, leaning against the frame with a frown. “So I’m eighteen. S’just another year.”

“It’s important to her because _you’re_ important to her.” Phlox said, folding his arms, “And, while it may just be another year to you, it is the tradition of our people to celebrate the transition between childhood and adulthood. And, while you may not enjoy yourself entirely, you should make an attempt. After all, it is only one day.”

He grumbled.

“Here,” Phlox said, handing him a neatly wrapped bundle tied with plain twine, “For my favorite nephew for his coming of age.”

Taren looked embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ma’serannas.”

“You’re welcome, da’len.”

“Hah! You can’t call me that anymore, Uncle.”

Phlox grinned, “So it seems.” He ruffled Taren’s hair, turning to leave, “We will see you shortly.”

“Right.” Taren sighed as he closed the door, leaning against it heavily. His nerves were out of control. _Breathe. Come on Taren. It’s just one day. One party. Then everything can go back to normal. Normal is good._ He opened the gift from his uncle slowly, staring with wonder at the smooth material he unveiled. The black scales shimmered under his fingers – gliding over one another in the most well-crafted piece of armor he had ever seen. It clasped at the neck with a silver finding shaped as the head of some beast he couldn’t identify.

He smiled to himself, slipping his dressing robe off before he pulled the armor on. It was lightweight – despite the thick, hard scales – and incredibly ornate. Sleeveless, to leave his archery unhindered, but protective of everything important. It was so unlike anything he had ever worn before, and he loved it. He pulled on the remainder of his clothes and accessories, admiring the way the armor moved in the mirror.

Another knock sent his stomach into knots, and he tugged at the hem of the armor before straightening and opening the door.

“Ah, master Lavellan!” Josephine said cheerfully, “Are you ready?”

“If I say no, does that mean I get t’hide in my room the rest of the day?”

She laughed, “No, unfortunately not. I can, however, buy you sometime by styling your hair, if you’d like.” She held a small ornate chest, likely filled with brushes and pins and all sorts of other hair accessories.

“I would be very appreciative.” He said, stepping aside to let her in, “Ah, sorry it’s a bit…s’a disaster in here.”

Josephine giggled again, waving her hand, “I have seen much worse.” She gestured for him to sit in front of his mirror, and went to work taming his hair into something proper and significantly less wild.

“Josephine?”

“Hmm?”

“How do y’do it? How do you meet with all these people, these strangers, and not lose your mind?”

“Well,” She said, twisting his hair as she talked, “I have quite a few years of practice – so I don’t get as nervous as I once did. But believe me, Taren, I used to think I would faint talking to all the dignitaries and political figureheads.”

“You, nervous? Are you just telling me that t’make me feel better?”

She laughed softly, “No, master Lavellan. But may I offer you some advice?”

He gave a little nod, watching as she put the finishing touches on his hair.

“Pretend you’re royalty.”

“I don’t-“

“When royalty talks,” She said, tipping his chin up with a finger, “They stand straight, and tip their chins up. Everyone listens. Everyone watches them. They are in complete control.” She reached into her chest, and withdrew a thin, ornate crown. The silver was inlaid with small, expertly cut obsidian stones, and Taren blinked in surprise as she placed it on his head. “Happy name day, Taren.”

“But, I’m hardly royalty.”

“No, but you are the Inquisitor’s son. The world owes her – and by proxy, you – the prestige. Chin up, Taren. And remember, you are in complete control.”

He got to his feet suddenly, giving her a fierce hug. “Thank you, Josephine.”

She smiled and placed a gentle kiss to his forehead, “Come down when you’re ready. The guests are already beginning to arrive.”

He nodded and waited until she left before observing himself in the mirror once more. He looked like a completely different person, dressed up and made up and…he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he just breathed. _I am in control. Complete control._ He steeled himself, before rubbing his arms and heading downstairs.

\--

By late afternoon he had already had three marriage proposals, two incidents of fainting servant girls, three goblets of wine, and twelve incredibly awkward encounters with people who swore up and down they had met when he was younger (but whom he did not remember in the slightest). His mother had nearly burst into tears when she saw him come downstairs, and his uncle had spent the rest of the afternoon patting her arm and reminding her that Taren wasn’t leaving, this was merely a celebration of his manhood.

He had moved to get some more wine (which was absolutely necessary), when a small voice grabbed his attention, “That sure is a pretty crown. Are you a prince or something?”

The voice belonged to a petite human girl (well, petite by human standards), who regarded him with a cocked head. She was wearing elegant furs, blonde hair braided and messy. And, though she was short, he could see she looked quite strong.

“Do you not know who I am?”

“Nope.”

He silently thanked Mythal, “I’m Taren. And I’m the Inquisitor’s son.”

“Oh! You’re the one my clan was sent to pay honor to. Your mother helped us become what we are today! Glorious and strong! So we bring wishes that her blood will become the same!” She bowed to him, and he put his hands out.

“Please, please don’t do that.”

“I am Aslaug An Silje O Frosthold, your Worship.”

“ _Please_ ,” He urged, “Call me Taren.”

“Taren,” She corrected, removing one of her necklaces (a cord with three, small white claws) and placing it around his neck. “For luck. May you experience glory beyond your name day.”

He smiled, “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

He spent a good amount of time talking with her: learning their shared interests, laughing over crude jokes – interrupted only by new guests. He was, as much as he hated to admit it, having fun.

“Taren,” his mother approached, a soft smile on her face, “Who is your friend?”

“Oh!” She gave a swift bow, the hood of her furs sliding down over her face. She adjusted it in haste, “I am Aslaug An Silje O Frosthold, Worship.”

Esny laughed, “Such pleasantries are always appreciated, but unnecessary. I thank you and your clan for traveling so far to celebrate Taren’s coming of age.”

“We wish only the best for the Inquisitor and her blood.”

Esny nodded and gave a warm smile, “Thank you, Aslaug O Frosthold.” She turned to her son, “Now, then Taren. It is time to give your speech.”

“Wot?”

“It is customary for the host-“

“That’s you!” Aslaug pointed out.

“-to give a short speech thanking the guests for coming.”

“Mum! Y’didn’t tell me I’d have to give a speech!” He hissed, nerves immediately making his hands shake as he adjusted his armor. “I don’t know what t’say!”

“Thank you is a good place to start.”

“A sound bit of advice, Aslaug.” Esny gave a sassy grin.

“You’re _so_ helpful.”

“I could stand with you,” Aslaug suggested, “Sometimes standing together is better than standing alone.”

“I…would like that.” He collected himself and made to stand in front of the throne, Aslaug at his side. He felt a bit at ease, knowing that he had someone with him, but the thought of addressing all these people filled him with dread. Aslaug prodded him lightly with her elbow, giving him a reassuring smile as she nodded towards the suddenly attentive party guests.

“I-“ he began, taking a deep breath, “I wanted t‘thank you all for coming. Though I’m only meeting some of you for th’first time today, it means a lot that you all care for my well being. As…as many of you have wished me well, I’d like t’wish you well in the coming months, a-and years.” He swallowed, and gave a little cough. Uncertain about what else to say. As he opened his mouth to continue, the air in the hall grew cold. And then, with a sound like thunder, a Rift opened. Green and angry, it flickered as a figure stepped from it, materializing in the hall like a spirit.

“Solas.” Esny said, standing so still she looked like a statue.

“Hello, vhenan.”


	3. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rarely do things go as planned. But sometimes a twist of events is the just the push needed to act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who has read, or is continuing to read this fic. This is one of my most well received pieces of fanfiction, and the first bit of work I've published that is OC centered. I've never been so excited to write, and I owe it to you. Thank you! <3

“Solas,” Esny repeated, as if reassuring herself that he was real, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, ma’lath. You couldn’t hide him from me forever.”

“It was hardly my intention to hide him,” She tipped her chin up, expression arrogant as it always had been, “Tis I, after all, who has been waiting for you.” She moved to show him what she made of her ruined arm. The thick, ropey scars that trail up her upper arm, the lightning bolt pathways that the anchor had made.

Solas’ confident smile melted into hurt, the frown twisting his brow and curling the corners of his lips down, “If I could have returned to you, I would have. You know this.” He took a moment to observe her, eyes lingering on her graying hair, heart clenching as he took in all of her scars and wrinkles. She had aged over the years, while he remained unchanged. It filled him with a sorrow he could not voice.

Beside Esny, Phlox had gone still. His dark eyes were narrowed, teeth grinding together as he clenched his jaw in barely concealed rage. The Voices had risen to a screaming cacophony, their chanting melding together into unintelligible words.

“Oh,” Solas said, sadness fading into a calm neutrality, “You’re still alive, are you?”

“Watch your tongue, Wolf.” Phlox spoke with a voice that wasn’t entirely his, and Esny held him at bay with her arm across his chest.

“I meant to express a curiosity that drinking from the Well hasn’t driven you mad yet,” He said, folding his arms behind his back, “I didn’t mean to provoke you. I’m not interested in a fight with you, _isenatha_.”

Phlox snorted.

“I wish only to see my son.”

“That’s your dad?” Aslaug whispered next to Taren, having taken up a defensive position when the Rift first opened. Now she eased slightly, remaining on guard just in case.

“I don’t know.”

“Ara serenna-ma,” He said to Esny, smooth stride carrying him across the hall in a few paces, “Emma’ishi...” Fondness crept back into Solas’ voice as he studied his son, standing like a young god in the middle of Tarasyl'an Te'las. Taren froze when Solas put his hands on his shoulders, something in the man’s smile putting him at ease, “You remind me so much of myself when I was your age.”

“You. I.You’re.” Taren could hardly form his words, panic creeping into his voice.

_Behind his eyelids he could still see the wolf melting into the elvhen man – skin pale and freckled and familiar._

_He had seen this creature before – in the frescos on the walls of the rotunda._

_Six green eyes glistened and narrowed as it studied him. ___

__Solas took a good long look at Taren’s green eye, lips compressed into a thin line of focus. It reminded him of the anchor – like green lightning. Like pressing her palm to the Rift, knowing it would stitch together the wound in the fade – but unravel her body, her mind, her spirit. He gave a soft snort, and thought how it was foolish of him to believe that any bit of the anchor lingered behind in him. No. Only his blood. Only his power._ _

__“I have so much to teach you.”_ _

__“B-Babae?” Taren hated the way his voice shook, the way the world felt like a rug that had been pulled out from under his feet. He hated that everything was suddenly on its head and that there were a hundred people staring: watching, waiting, whispering. He could feel his breath come short, his heart hammer against his ribs like a frenzied bird._ _

__“Yes, Taren.”_ _

___What are you?_ _ _

___I am Taren._ _ _

___Not who, boy. What._ _ _

__“I’m your son.” The conclusion was all he can grind out, the rest of the words lost as his throat threatened to close up entirely._ _

__Taren did the only thing he could think to do just then: he ran. The silence of the hall was tangible, and it followed him up the stairs and into his quarters. It followed him past the locked doors and past every heaving breath that fell just short of his lungs. _Breathe Taren. Breathe. In and out. You’re in complete control remember?_ He wasn’t. He had no control. He felt like his chest was going to collapse. He was dizzy – so, so dizzy. _Breathe.__ _

__\--_ _

__“A fine lot of good that did,” Phlox said, “Did you honestly think that this would work out in your favor?”_ _

__“Oh, shut up.” Solas snapped. He rounded on Esny, “Would it have been so hard to tell him of me?”_ _

__She bristled, “And what was I to tell him? That his father was a god?”_ _

__“You loved the man,” He said, expression sad and distant and pained again, “Why couldn’t have he?”_ _

__Esny felt her heart catch in her throat – every emotion she had put aside for the past seventeen years breaking over her like a wave upon the shore. “I bade the man to stay,” She said, “Why couldn’t have he?”_ _

__She watched as Solas’ expression twisted itself into something agonized – the frown crinkling his brow and dulling the spark in his eyes. He stepped back from her, opening a Rift, and was gone. The guests murmured quietly amongst themselves, looking to the Herald and Inquisitor for answers._ _

__“Thank you all for coming,” Josephine swept in with her candied words and trite niceties, “Unfortunately, it is time to bid you all farewell. Please look for a letter in the coming weeks, with a personalized thank you from the Inquisitor and her son.” With fresh gossip on their tongues, and secrets to tell, most of the guests were content to leave. Most of them._ _

__“Aw, but I don’t wanna leave yet,” Aslaug said, being dragged along by her mother, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”_ _

__“Come child, before we overstay our welcome.”_ _

__Once Josephine had ushered the guests out, she came in with fury in her voice, and murder in her eyes, “Everything was going so well! It’ll take days to get Taren out of his room, never mind that he’ll probably never want to attend a formal event ever again.” She sighed, “Oh, this is going to be the political disaster of the century! As if the Inquisition didn’t already have plenty to worry about! I-oh. Inquisitor…”_ _

__Esny had taken seat at the throne, face pressed into her hand. Her shoulders were shaking, and for the first time in a long time, she wished she had both hands to hide her tear-streaked face, “Taren is never going to forgive me for lying to him about his father.”_ _

__“He will,” Phlox reassured her, “In time. You did the right thing. Best not give the boy hope about someone who should have never appeared in his life.”_ _

__“It is his right, Phlox,” She chastised, “Both Solas’ and Taren’s – to know about the other.”_ _

__He sighed, “I’ll go check on him.”_ _

__Phlox ascended the stairs to Taren’s quarters, eyes lingering on the frescos that colored the walls. He too, was to blame, he supposed. He could have easily supplemented his nephew with all the answers to his questions. Instead, he kept the secret as well as his sister._ _

__“Taren?” He knocked softly._ _

__“Go away.”_ _

__“Are you alright?”_ _

__“I don’t want to talk to anyone.” Taren was busy shoving his rucksack full of essentials, distracted and annoyed._ _

__“Your mother is worried about y-“_ _

__“Leave me alone!”_ _

__“Alright, alright.” Phlox held his hands up defensively, “Have it your own way, then.”_ _

__Taren waited until his uncle’s footsteps grew faint before slipping out onto the balcony. He had done this a hundred times before, but suddenly everything seemed exciting and daunting and new. He was in control. He wanted answers, and by the Creators, he was going to get them. He carefully climbed down from the balcony, landing softly on the roof of the fortress. He ran along the curtain wall, and dropped down in the stables, trying to slip out unnoticed._ _

__“Where d’you suppose you’re going, pup?” One of the avvar in Aslaug’s band stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. They had yet to leave, readying their supplies and horses alike for the return journey. It wasn’t far, not from what he understood, but it was a hard journey through the mountains._ _

__“I need some time to myself. I have a lot to think about and it’s impossible in there. I…I think more clearly when I hunt.”_ _

__“Mm.” She eyed him suspiciously, and he feared she somehow knew his intentions before he so much as breathed word about them. “Aslaug!” She barked, “Go with him. Sheep are safer in a flock.”_ _

__“Yes, mother.” She gave a quick dip of her head, pulling around her own horse. Secretly, she was happy to get to spend some more time with her newfound friend. The woman she called mother beckoned her over, bowing their heads together and saying something in a language he didn’t understand. Aslaug looked puzzled, but nodded, turning her mount to the gate._ _

__“I have been given permission to leave my clan. Mother says I might find my purpose here. Whatever that means. Are you ready?”_ _

__“Yes.” He swung into Ghilani’s saddle with a grunt. It had been much too long since he rode her, and her burly, wide body was not the most comfortable for his short legs. He gave her a little nudge, and she surged forward, galloping out the gate and past several startled party-goers. Aslaug laughed as she raced next to him, expression falling as she saw the seriousness in his eyes._ _

__When they came to an eventual halt, horses out of breath and skin wind-burned and red, Aslaug asked, “So what are we doing? Actually?”_ _

__“We’re going to find my father.”_ _


	4. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taren used to believe dreaming was an escape, now it is merely a mechanism for his fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little heavy and a little awkward. Though I'm not as pleased with it as I'd like to be, I know it lays down a lot of plot and had to be written. For the sake of continuing on.
> 
> As always, I want to thank you, the reader, for reading, commenting, giving kudos. I appreciate everything you do! <3

The trees were thick and the horses weary by the time the pair ventured into the Arbor Wilds. Taren, with all his fear of dreaming and the deep seeded dread of fade-walking, hardly slept. When he did fall asleep, he was woken by wolves: snarling, snapping, biting, growling – their green eyes rolling in their blackened heads. Nightmares. Monsters and their ilk.

“Why here?” Aslaug asked, sweeping aside a branch so it didn’t clip her in the face.

“The Wilds are a sacred place to th’Dalish. Or they were. There’s a lot of ruins, and artifacts out here. It seemed as good a place t’start as any.” He didn’t mention the last dream he had – where he stood on a pillar made of black stone as wolves circled below him in droves thick as sea water, crashing upon it like waves until he tumbled into their waiting fangs. The very pillar he stood before now. He was grateful there were no wolves. He carefully slid from Ghilani’s back, legs sore and stiff from hours of riding.

“Huh,” She looked around, mystified by the peacefulness of the forest surrounding them. A few birds flitted between the trees, and in the distance she could see a small herd of halla grazing. It was so unlike the harshness of the Frostbacks, and yet, she felt incredibly uneasy. As if she was unwelcomed. “Taren?” she asked as she dismounted, Can I ask you something?”

“Mm?”

“What are you going to do when you find him?”

He shrugged, puffing his chest out a bit, “I’m going t’walk right up t’him. And I. I’m going to…! I…” He let out the breath he’d sucked in with a huge sigh, “I don’t know. I have so many questions. I just want answers. Mostly, I just want to know why he left us.”

Aslaug cocked her head, “What if they’re answers you don’t like?”

He shrugged again, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked horribly uncomfortable, as if he hadn’t quite thought it through that far.

“Well,” She said, quickly changing the subject, “I’m starving, what about you?”

He nodded, beginning to unpack their supplies.

“I spotted some deer a ways back. Tell you what. You get camp set, and I’ll see about dinner. You hunted the last few times, and besides, you’re magical. A fire should be nothing for you.”

Taren snorted, waving her away, “Alright.”

The fire was burning away, horses tethered and grazing, and sleeping rolls set out long before Taren fell asleep. He had closed his eyes for a moment, settling against the crook of a giant, aged tree. But for all his weariness, a moment was all it took.

\--

He was running. The scent of the forest and the mossy grass beneath his feet were all he knew. The fresh air tickled his fur, bursting upon his tongue as he panted hard. He ran like all the demons of the Fade were chasing him, weaving through the thick undergrowth after his prey. He was nearly upon it now, flashes of white peeking between the trees as he crawled under a low hanging tree – the momentary diversion giving his quarry distance. He bared his teeth in frustration, renewing his pace with exuberance born from fury. This one he would not let get away. Everything depended on him.

He could nearly feel its approach – senses screaming – as he leaped over a fallen log, sinking his teeth into the space between the doe’s neck and shoulder. He gave a vicious shake of his head, the weight of his body pulling the halla off balance and winding her. She was of impressive size – even more impressive was her agility, considering her three legs. He licked the blood from his lips as the packmaster assessed his prize, the enormous wolf circling as he waited – eyes gleaming – for Taren to make the killing blow.

Taren shook his head as he approached the doe, her terrified bleating growing weaker by the moment. He snorted, clearing the scent of blood from his nose as he snarled in finality. This was _his_ kill! This was _his_ glory! Everything depended on him! He severed her throat, blood filling his mouth and nose, splashing down the thick fur of his throat. Her final cry came out breathy, pained, confused, “Taren!”

He stopped. Backed away. In the doe’s place was Esny, her frail frame draped over the tree roots like a broken doll. The blood was caked, thick and black, down the front of her white dress – blood staining her paper-thin pale skin. Her silver hair lay in a halo around her head, eyes closed in eternal sleep.

“Mamae?” His voice shook, his resolve broke.

_Not who, boy. What?_

_I am just an elf?_

_Are you certain?_

He shook, backing away. He didn’t. He couldn’t have.

The giant wolf approached, nuzzling Taren as he appraised his kill. 

_You did what had to be done, _He said, green tongue licking away a bit of blood behind Taren’s ear. There was sorrow in his voice, brow furrowing as Taren flinched away from him. The little black wolf looked frightened, tail tucked between his legs, shaking fiercly. _What I never had the courage to finish.___

__“I didn’t mean to! She can’t be…Mamae! Please, I didn’t. I didn’t mean to do this.”_ _

_It had to be done._

“Why?!” His voice cracked, teeth bared in sadness and frustration as he backed away. “You loved her! Am I not proof of that? Why would you make me do this?!” 

_Taren._

“I don’t understand!”

_You will._ He began to fade away with the fog, sliding away like thick, black smoke. _Hamin iras harel inan._

\--

Taren woke with a start, gasping for breath like he had been drowning. Aslaug looked up from where she was roasting something over the fire, confusion rippling over her face. 

“Are you alright?”

“Hamin iras harel inan... hamin iras harel inan…” He mumbled it to himself over and over again, trying to dissect the words. Trying to get meaning where there was none. He hid his face in his hands, taking a long, shaky breath.

“Taren,” Aslaug pressed, “Are you alright?”

“No!” He barked, “No…I…I don’t know.” He brought his knees up to his chest, hiding his face there as he wrapped his arms around his legs. “Everything is so fucked up. My dreams are getting worse. I…I’m _terrified_.”

Aslaug took her cloak off and draped it over him, slinging an arm around his shoulders as she pulled him close. “Nothing that’s worth doing is easy or uncomplicated. If that were true, there wouldn’t be wars and no one would starve and nobody would hurt anybody else for being different.”

He gave her a skeptical look.

“Look, what I’m saying is that it might be fucked up, but you’re out here for a reason. Maybe the gods think you’re made of tougher stuff than you believe.”

Taren snorted, drawing the cloak around himself, “Thanks, Aslaug.”

“I still think I could beat the snot out of you in a sparring match though, so don’t let it go to your head.”

He gave a little chuckle, “So. What are you burning?”

“Ack! Shit!” She abandoned his side to turn what she had on the spit, grumbling about the fire being too big, “It isn’t burnt. Yet. And it’s waterfowl.”

“If you want to mask the charred taste you could try wintergreen berries.”

“Oi! It aint burnt, you little shit!”

_Hamin iras harel inan._ He thought to himself. _Rest where the trickster sees._


	5. Another Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taren finds that magic can do a lot of strange things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a long time to crank out. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with this, but it took a complete 180 from where I was originally planning on heading.
> 
> Heavy angst in the last three chapters. Ye've been warned!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and thank you for your kudos! <3

He was awake all through the night, volunteering to take watch despite his lack of sleep. He kept turning the dream over in his mind, dissecting it, taking it apart and rebuilding it – trying to understand. He stared into the fire, shivering despite the moderate temperature. 

Rest where the trickster sees.

He tipped his head back, sighing, and looked up at the bit of overhang the ruins around them had made. He listened to the not-so-gentle snoring of Aslaug, the chirruping of the crickets, and off in the distance, an owl shrieked as the sun started to rise. He could make out the faint, worn lines of old engravings in the ceiling. Words, written in ancient elvhen, were the hardest to make out. A few of them he understood, but most of it was lost on him, written in a dialect and style he couldn’t comprehend.

Maybe some exploring would do him good. He gave Aslaug a nudge, waking her, “I’m going t’have a look around. If you need me, toss this at that pillar.” He handed her a small, red crystal. “It’ll explode in fire. So don’t drop it.”

She blinked blearily, “You just handed me something dangerous while I’m not entirely awake. If I die, it’s your fault entirely I’ll have you know.”

“Mmhm.”

“Be careful!” She called after him. Aslaug knew how to handle herself, but Taren…it wasn’t that he couldn’t fight (although she hadn’t exactly seen him do so), but he was weak, and being dragged down by, well, whatever was going on in his head. If he was ambushed, he wouldn’t stand a chance. She grumbled and tucked the crystal into the pocked of her undershirt, stretching before tending to the fire. He was an odd one, indeed.

Taren scaled the ruins like a practiced explorer, following the lines of crumbling architecture until he came to something of a crossroads. The ceiling, or what was left of it, had at one time formed an impressive stone dome. There had been frescos painted on the ceiling, he gathered, staring at the single panel that remained:

Fen’Harel.

Rest where the trickster sees.

“You have t’be joking,” Taren said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course it would be a ridiculously easy riddle. He sighed, and followed the gaze of the fresco, reclining against the cool stone floor. Despite closing his eyes, and allowing himself to relax, Taren couldn’t fall asleep. After trying for a long while, he groaned in frustration, throwing his arms up. Something flickered in the edge of his vision, and he sat up, watching as the mirror against the far wall came to life.

He didn’t know what it was, but something deep down told him it wasn’t safe. He hedged towards it, watching as the glass rippled – a shadow moving beneath the surface. Taren cocked his head, curious, but didn’t move. Just as something was about to come through the mirror, he was grabbed from behind, a hand clamping over his mouth as he was hauled bodily behind a fallen pillar. His captor made eye contact, keeping his hand over his mouth as he shushed him.

From the mirror stepped an armor-clad Solas, who narrowed his eyes as he glanced around. The Eluvian shimmered, but then fell still and dark once again – looking just as broken and useless as it had before. The elvhen god paced a bit, pausing and bowing his head. Taren tried to read the expression on Solas’ face, but his view was obscured by the rock he was shoved behind. Solas took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and conjured a staff before striding off. Taren struggled, batting at his captor, who finally released him when satisfied that Solas was truly gone.

“What are y’doing!” Taren barked, “That’s my father! I’ve been looking for him for days!”

“I know,” The stranger said, pulling his hood back. Taren was astounded. He was looking at himself. He could see it in his one green eye. He was older, he supposed, judging by his somewhat haggard appearance. He appraised his other self, scrutinizing the details: lingering on a small, silvery scar that cut through his nose. “I’ve been trying to warn you. Creators above, I don’t remember being so daft.”

“Wot?” Taren came back to focus.

“I’ve been doctoring your dreams. From somewhere beyond the Fade.”

“Wot.” Taren starred at…himself in disbelief, “It was you?” The disappointment in his voice must have been palpable. The other him frowned, and nodded. “I thought it was him. I thought…hah…” Taren’s laugh wasn’t in humor, “I thought he was trying t’reach out t’me. To reconnect, or whatever it is that absent fathers do.”

“He is trying,” Elder Taren responded, “But not in the way you think. The place that I come from…it is the place where he has ripped down the Veil. A place where you have become me. Trust me. Your friends and family don’t exist. You’re not a hero. You’re not proud of yourself. If you go to him, this life you have – everything you know – he will destroy it. I’ve risked a lot by baiting you with dreams. He recognized my magic. It’s how he was able to find you at your coming of age ceremony.”

“You were there?”

“I am you. I have lived your life – only much more of it.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ve only just turned thirty.”

Thirty? Taren's felt his heart hammering in his throat. Twelve years from now his life had turned into a veritable hell, and he was scared, “I don’t understand.”

“I wish I could explain it better to you, but I’m afraid I don’t necessarily understand it myself. I know only that I was able to use the Rifts to reach you now. Please, you must listen to me. You cannot go to him – no matter what he promises you. Whatever good there was in that man is gone; he’s only shadows inside.”

Taren was about to respond when Aslaug came tearing over the low wall, “Taren! Taren we have to go-ohhh what the in the name of all the gods…?”

“Aslaug this is…me?”

“We have absolutely no time for you to explain this to me. You have to come see this. Now.”

The urgency in her voice made Taren’s stomach do a little flip. He glanced at his elder self, concern furrowing his brow. He rushed to follow her, coming up short when she pointed to the skies above the Frostbacks. The sky was alive with an aurora, the red ribbons dancing through the air.

“Oh, no,” Elder Taren said, “No, no, no! I had more time! I had plenty of time!”

“What are you going on about?” Aslaug said.

“Solas is attacking Skyhold. I thought I had enough time, I should have! Something has changed. We need to get back. Immediately.”

Aslaug snorted, “Yeah, well, we’re a week’s ride out from Skyhold. By the time we get back, the battle will be over. If there’s a battle to be had.”

“Aslaug!” Taren barked.

“They weren’t prepared, Taren! They’ve probably been distracted trying to find _you_.”

Taren bristled, but was held back by a hand on his shoulder, “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that we get back. Come on, I know a shortcut."


End file.
